


In Plain Sight

by dragoninatrenchcoat



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: No Civilian Kills | Not Even Once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:08:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27047728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragoninatrenchcoat/pseuds/dragoninatrenchcoat
Summary: After being given a chance to learn more about vampires up-close, Ichabod gives Dr. Reid a lecture on how best to identify a vampire on sight alone. As he lists them, however, the clues start to sound peculiarly familiar...
Relationships: Jonathan Reid & Ichabod Throgmorton
Comments: 7
Kudos: 72





	In Plain Sight

“How goes your hunting?” asked Dr. Reid, pleasantly, from beside him.

Vampire Hunter Ichabod Throgmorton and Doctor Jonathan Reid had taken to evening strolls once every few nights, talking about vampires, as well as their own lives and the current state of London--both of which also tended to feature vampires. The worst of the epidemic seemed tentatively to be behind them, and the worst of the vampires seemed to have faded back into the woodwork, but there was still much to be done on both of their fronts.

“Very well, in fact,” said Ichabod, with a great smile.

Ichabod often found himself looking forward to these walks. Dr. Reid seemed among the only people in the city to take him seriously--even counting those who already believed in vampires, such as the trigger-happy Priwen guardsmen he’d increasingly stumbled across. Speaking with Dr. Reid about vampires felt almost as freeing as speaking with another hunter as dedicated as himself, although Reid never admitted to having a similar inclination.

“Oh?” Reid raised one eyebrow.

“As it happens, I fought a vampire with my own fists only last night. Any other man would be lucky to have escaped with his life, let me tell you.”

He had, in fact, unearthed a vampire last night. A young man by the name of Nick Blakeley, as fast as he was strong, who’d killed his own mother and sister in a single passionate moment. Ichabod had even spoken with Mr. Blakeley about the grisly murders, before realizing his status as a blood-sucking demon.

“Did you slay this vampire?” Reid asked. Getting, as he often did, directly to the crux of the matter. Ichabod frowned.

“Unfortunately, this vampire possessed the ability to disappear into thin air. I had known these creatures were capable of such tricks, of course, but...”

“To see it yourself is a different matter entirely.”

“Yes.” He pinned his lips shut. He hadn’t meant to admit to having been surprised, or taken aback. In a hasty effort to divert attention, he added, “I know the creature’s name now, however; it is merely a matter of tracking the thing down, which should be of no consequence to a hunter of my calibre. In any case, the experience did teach me a number of tricks to identify a disguised vampire on sight.”

Both of Reid’s eyebrows went up, and he glanced aside at Ichabod. “A useful skill, in your line of work.”

Ichabod nodded, and slid smoothly into a lecture. “There is the more common animal vampire, of course. That is the kind that the Priwen hunt down, the scowling creature in the shadows with claws extended. I hunt the more refined vampire; well, I hunt both of them, of course, but my skills would be more useful in tracking down the discreet murderers. You see, this Nick Blakeley seemed every bit the unsettled young man, distraught by the murder of his family. But there are a few telltale signs that no vampire will be able to cover.”

Reid nodded along, seemingly deep in thought. Ichabod took this as a cue to continue.

“There is the pale skin, of course. Pale as death, yet perhaps still slightly pink with their stolen blood. The movements of their bodies are smooth and perfect, too, an almost feline grace. Why, Mr. Blakeley’s mannerisms were as smooth and graceful as your own, which I’ve noted as a step above the average. A lithe hunter’s gait. As I’ve said before, Dr. Reid, I believe you would make a top-rate vampire hunter--possibly even one to rival myself!”

Reid had looked at him with some faint manner of alarm, but then chuckled. “And as I’ve said before, Mr. Throgmorton, I am a doctor.  _ First, do no harm. _ I only engage in violence when absolutely necessary, and never seek it out when it can be avoided.”

A sullen look shadowed his eyes as he said so. Ichabod recognized the same look from his interactions with many a war veteran.

In part to draw Reid’s attention away from his ravaged memories, Ichabod continued his lecture. “There is then, of course, that they are only seen out at night. Mr. Blakeley had deep shadows under his eyes, like that of a sleepless worker--much like yours, if I may be so bold as to say. It should not be a surprise to you,” he added at Dr. Reid’s glance. “I’ve asked many times whether you get enough sleep, and have remarked upon the state of your visage. How could you hope to attract a pretty young lady when you spend so much time working and so little time taking care of yourself?”

Reid shook his head. “We are not here to discuss my romantic exploits, Mr. Throgmorton.”

“Or lack thereof,” added Ichabod, jovially. “In any case, you are correct. The disguised vampire also comes up with excuses not eat or drink real food--again, much like your multitudinous rebuffing of our invites for you to join us for dinner at the shelter. I know you don’t want to rob us of our meager supplies, but an invite is an invite, Dr. Reid.” He chuckled. “Interestingly, Mr. Blakeley was a sublime conversationalist--much like you, come to think of it--and although he wore only a shirt and trousers, he seemed not to react to the chill of the night whatsoever. Again, not unlike you. But that’s more than likely due to his status as a corpse, as cold as the night around him. He gave off no heat, as even a bundled-up human will exude a certain warmth within speaking distance. Even his breaths didn’t show in the evening air...”

Ichabod trailed off, ceding the stage to their echoing footsteps on the stone, because it occurred to him then that he’d never once seen a huff of Dr. Reid’s breath.

Nor felt any warmth at his side as they walked.

Nor witnessed a single shiver.

Although his occupation didn’t demand it, as did Ichabod’s and that of the Priwen, Dr. Reid only seemed to work his rounds at night. Although he often showed up at the Turquoise Turtle, Dr. Reid never ordered food nor drink. Although his military experience likely rivaled that of any other veteran or Priwen militant, Dr. Reid’s smooth, exacting movements went a league beyond any average hunter.

Then there was the sunken eyes, the pale skin, the calm voice, the rebuffed dinner invite...

Ichabod’s steps slowed, and ultimately stopped. Reid came to a stop a few strides later, turning back to watch him.

There was an expectation in Reid’s eyes. He knew exactly what Ichabod was thinking, and rather than argue, or leave, or attack, he elected only to wait and watch.

Dr. Reid was... a vampire.

They stood in complete silence, watching one another there in that narrow tucked-away alley, as a chill crawled slowly up Ichabod’s spine. Reid hadn’t turned just recently; he hadn’t changed at all since Ichabod met him, those weeks ago.

“All along,” he heard himself say.

Reid didn’t answer, watching him with a serious expression, hands at his sides.

“All along, you’ve...”

His frazzled brain recategorized all of his memories of Reid. Their conversations, their short-lived arguments. The day they’d met over the corpse of a vampire’s victim, Ichabod boasting about his ability to weed out a vampire wherever he may hide.

“You’ve been laughing at me, haven’t you?”

One of Reid’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t answer.

Numbly, Ichabod said, “All this time. You’ve been at my side all this time, listening to me go on and on. Am I just a joke to you? Is that the only reason you haven’t killed me? You walk by my side and get your kicks out of hearing me call myself the world’s greatest vampire hunter, and yet I’ve been nothing but blind and stupid and gullible.”

Reid’s eyes softened. “When we first met, yes, I admit the irony was amusing to me. But as we came to know one another, that faded. You may not believe it, but our goals are the same, and I have endeavored never to lie to you. I do consider you to be a friend.”

A sharp laugh bubbled out of Ichabod, almost against his better judgment. “A  _ friend? _ You and I would make poor  _ friends, _ don’t you think?” He felt a hollow fear. “Has anything you’ve ever said been genuine? How long was it going to take for you to get tired of me and just end this game?”

“Your friendship is not some game I’m playing.” Reid sounded... upset. There was something real and vibrant in his eyes. “Listen to me, Ichabod. I’ve not been completely forthcoming, that I can admit, but still I have never lied to you. I have never thought about--and I never plan to-- _ end _ it, in the way that you’re describing.”

“Why else would you string me along like this?”

Reid smoothly closed the distance between them. Ichabod fell into a defensive stance, but Reid didn’t attack, or even flinch at the movement. He only approached until they were close, eye-to-eye, and it became so obvious that he was cold as death that Ichabod wondered how he’d never put it together before.

Because he was blind, and stupid, and gullible. Because every grand accomplishment of his was nothing but a lie built on an exaggeration. That’s why.

Reid’s eyes sought deep into Ichabod’s as he said, quietly, “I am not stringing you along. I am not... like most others; I’ve sworn never to kill a civilian. I have enough blood on my hands as it is.”

“I want to trust you,” Ichabod found himself saying, although he still held his arms up in a defensive brace, his weight low in his knees. “But how can I? You’re a creature of deceit. Some vampires even have mental tricks. You can simply force me to believe anything, can’t you?”

Shockingly, Reid nodded. “I have that ability. And yes, I have used it on you once or twice before. But I have not used it to change you in any way, and I have not used it tonight. I don’t want to use it tonight.”

“But you might, if I threaten to expose you.”

Reid let out a tired breath--as cold as the night air--and Ichabod knew he was right. He thought through the motions: the lunge, the stab, expertly aimed at the heart. His stake was at his hip, all he needed to do was grab it.

All the same, he couldn’t make himself take even the first motion. Kill Dr. Reid? The only person around who dared give Ichabod the time of day? The only person who made him feel like he had a value beyond that which he’d demanded for himself?

“Damn it,” Ichabod said through clenched teeth. “Why does it have to be you?”

Reid gave him a sad smile. “I ask myself that question every night.” Then his smile faded, and he said, “I have no place to ask, Mr. Throgmorton, but I’d like you to do me one favor. If you do decide that drastic measures are required, then please come after me yourself, rather than spread the word. I’d much rather be killed like a man than hunted down like an animal.”

Ichabod opened his mouth and closed it, finding no words within him to say.

Reid nodded. “You know where to find me,” he said, then turned and left. Ichabod watched him disappear around a corner.

It was a few lingering moments before he dropped his defensive stance.

Foolish, blind, gullible idiot. Stupid, useless fool. Face-to-face with a vampire and he couldn’t kill it.

That’s three times now.

The young woman, squatting in a derelict home with fear in her eyes. Nick Blakeley, who’d snarled at the smell of blood when Ichabod had stupidly nicked himself on his own knife, the way the young man’s bright red eyes had filled with that same terrible fear before he’d vanished into smoke. Leaving the world’s greatest vampire hunter feeling foolish in his wake.

And now Dr. Reid. A friend. Neither of them had been filled with fear, but that cold feeling in Ichabod’s gut might have been worse.

Vampires were supposed to be irredeemable demons. Not gentle doctors, nor young men filled with regret, nor frail young women crouching behind dilapidated cabinets.

But the world loved nothing so much as proving Ichabod Throgmorton wrong.


End file.
